A Document in Madness
by Wraithlike
Summary: 100 prompt challenge; Ophelia-centric to help with the portrayal of the fair, the fragile, the unfortunate Ophelia. Prompt 8: Dolls. It can't be as important as she thinks, if she thinks at all any longer. But who was it? Why will no one answer?
1. Prompt 1: Candy Beans

Prompt 1 : **Candy Beans**

And whenever he came back, there was always something in his pockets for the dark haired sprite; something in exchange for the joy she gave him when her pale face radiated her joy. A doll from Paris, a trinket from Vienna, a chocolate frog from Norway … when all was said and done they were mere trifles. It was all he could do to hold her off with them while he put down his cases before he would gather her up and two lonely hearts made one. No greater love than that.

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**A/N: **Dear God. I haven't posted in ages. Ages and ages and ages, though I haven't stopped writing. My Death Note story hit a plot problem so I've been straightening that out and it's still shelved waiting for inspiration ... in the meantime my life has left me for dead and is only picking up all of the pieces now. It'll be a long process I assure you. But I was recently cast as Ophelia in Hamlet and am pouring my heart into it. So to help me understand her, I've embarked on this prompt challenge. And now my note is longer than my prompt so too-rah! I hope you enjoy it, and follow me on this journey. ;)

- Wraithlike


	2. Prompt 2: Cut Off

Prompt 2 : **Cut Off**

There was always going to have to be a choice, and in the back of her head she knew that. She was aware that this was no playground romance, much as everyone would tell her so. Always two paths, no more distinct than when he whirled away into that dark place in his mind Ophelia had retreated from; his love her sun and comfort. He was drifting away and she knew she would have to decide; the family she loved or the prince she adored. She could only save one; and only by agreeing to hateful plans could this be done. She blinked, swallowed and nodded. _Oh, Hamlet, _she thought, _I free thee with all of my love. _But Hamlet was gone from her; his raving counterpart left behind. Her love thrown to the wind; and as the biggest part of her, she quickly followed.

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**A/N: **Part two! :D Loving it. By the way, this is all set pre World War Two in case you wonder for the later ones. ;) It's a cool little time frame, I think. :D

- Wraithlike


	3. Prompt 3: Hermanos

Prompt 3 : **Hermanos**

Laertes spoke to her in French in her cradle. Her father, when rarely he did appear spoke distracted Danish, so she learned life from the fiery tongue of Gaul. Her father would say nothing of her mother, except to stare sorrowfully at her as she grew into her majority and perhaps whisper a word of the French woman who had borne her; his wife. The woman Ophelia had effectively killed by her life.

She had known from her birth by Laertes' words that she was a stranger in this land, as she was a stranger in this castle and in this world. He sat her before the portrait of her mother and told her things about her Ophelia hungered for, when the mood struck him. Her favourite songs, her favourite weather, what she did when she was sad, what she spoke of the most. What she had meant to him.

A French woman in a Danish castle, just like Ophelia. And Polonius had loved her for the wildness of her mind, something she had passed to Ophelia. But who would love Ophelia? She was nothing; nothing but another stranger.

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**A/N: **I love the random title on this one. Well, I have no idea what they were going for, but it sounds foreign to me. And I'm pretty sure Ophelia being French isn't canon but in our version she's secretly engaged to Hamlet. Come on, now. ;)

- Wraithlike

P.S. Thanks for the review fol. You mad yoke. ;) Glad you enjoyed it, fol! Further from milk, yeah? ;) xxx


	4. Prompt 4: Crossover

Prompt 4 : **Crossover**

'You're wrong if you think this is right,' she told him. Laertes frowned.

'Ophelia, we're headed for war. What can I do but help?'

She pouted, folding a shirt.

'I don't want you to go,' she said after a moment, pushing the heavy, dark hair out of her eyes, tears threatening her vision. Laertes tilted his head, (so like Polonius) before pulling her close in an embrace smelling of smoke and cologne.

'Just be wary of Lord Hamlet, Ophelia,' he warned, but she couldn't see the wildness in his blue eyes; the fear. He clutched her tighter, all too aware of her delicacy.

'Laertes,' she sighed, pulling away, and looking every inch sixteen suddenly.

'I can look after myself.'

'Of course,' he smiled lopsidedly and she grinned, dragging a jacket closer, missing his penetrating stare. _Be war of Lord Hamlet, Ophelia. He adores you. More than I can._

_More than he should.

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_

**A/N: The plot thickens ... :O I actually quite like this one, very brotherly. :D  
**

**- Wraithlike  
**


	5. Prompt 5: Boyfights

Prompt 5 : **Boyfights**

The air crackled with tension and there could be no mistaking the forced cordiality in the room where the men sat.

'Lord Hamlet –'

'Please, no such formality. Laertes, we grew up together.'

Hamlet sounded suddenly sad.

'We shared everything.'

'Those times have passed. You and I are different people now, with different agendas.'

'I have no such agenda. I care nothing for war or glory or honour. I'm a coward; a coward above all others.'

Laertes watched the sudden change wrought by those words closely. Hamlet stared off through the window. Laertes drummed his fingers.

'Hamlet. I want your word of honour that you will leave my sister be.'

'I can give you no such assurance,' Hamlet fired back quietly, and the restrain broke. Laertes slammed his fists onto the arms of the chair and pushed himself carelessly away from it.

'Leave her, be, Hamlet! She is nothing to do with you!' he bellowed, red in the face. Hamlet's face paled, and he turned his head away into his hands.

'Laertes, I –'

'Just leave her alone! Why – _how _can you deceive her so? What pleasure can it possibly give you? I thought you loved Ophelia; loved her as _I _do; that you would do anything – _anything _– to save her from harm? How could I have ever thought as much of you? You … you _traitor! _You _liar!_'

'Laertes! Think no more ill of me! I mean Ophelia no harm; I -'

Hamlet's face was suddenly livid with animation and he had whirled onto his feet also, away from Laertes.

An action speaking a volume more than words it appeared. For in a mere moment, Laertes realised any number of things.

1. Hamlet was very young.

2. Hamlet was like a brother to him.

3. Hamlet was nobler than Laertes remembered.

4. Hamlet was an angst-filled waste of time. Laertes should have killed him when the chance was his.

5. Laertes loved Hamlet; more than he wished to.

6. Hamlet didn't want to hurt him.

7. Hamlet didn't want to hurt Ophelia.

8. Hamlet didn't give a damn about the death of his father.

9. Hamlet was going to hurt both Ophelia and Laertes badly, because

10. Hamlet loved Ophelia. Desperately. Painfully. Absolutely sincerely.

And Laertes knew one more thing; there was nothing either of them could do.

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**A/N: Love the title, not sure about the execution, though I liked my list. ;)**

**- Wraithlike  
**


	6. Prompt 6: Need

Prompt 6 : **Need**

When she sits with Hamlet, it's like watching things turn to gold.

One moment sticks in her memory; in the grounds past midnight. Wrapped in Hamlets coat, curled up beside him; two outsiders warming each other's hearts, as he spun stories that glittered like diamonds in the chill air. And when she looked up at him, his eyes sparkled in time with the stories, but with no pretence of grandeur; no element of fantasy. His eyes warmed like a furnace, ordinary and dependable; humanity at odds with his silver tongue.

She didn't see what he saw staring down at her. How could she; the dark eyes full of love, the warm skin and soft hair, the sweet smile threatening to burst forth like birdsong and reduce him to the very base of his being. A danger he embraces gladly.

Neither sees clearly, but it's a blindness they accept with joy. Love is blind, after all.

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**A/N: D'aaww ... I love Hammy/Phe. ;)**

**-Wraithlike**


	7. Prompt 7: Fulfilment

Prompt 7 : **Fulfilment**

It's in the small things; the smile they share at breakfast that lights up his entire miserable day; the smooth band around her ring finger which she will hide if anyone notices it; the flowers on her desk, the perfume lingering in his room. It's in the plans he has formulated carefully, cautiously to protect her and ensure that she one day will be his. It's in the lies she has to tell for a snatched moment, every hidden word.

They're not the only lies she tells. She lies to herself, as she ponders the months unmarked by cycle, and tells herself it's stress. It's worry. It's chance. She lies and tells herself her joy is only love for Hamlet; her excitement only indigestion.

But when she and Hamlet can finally be together, they are fulfilled. All three.

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**A/N: Now, me personally, I was always fond of the 'Ophelia is pregnant' theory ... but they wouldn't let me put it into the play so I put here instead. This is the most adulty one so far, I think.**

**- Wraithlike  
**


	8. Prompt 8: Dolls

Prompt 8 : **Dolls**

Who bought her her first doll?

It seems like such an important question suddenly.

She thinks it was Polonius. But that's wrong. Polonius absented himself from her youth. A fond pat on the head, a snowy smile, bumbling, false Polonius. She thinks of him with an ache of love, and whirls away from the memory and the scene it paints for her, floating down the hall, humming the same snatch again and again. _Do doodle __**oo **__do, do doodle oodle __**oo **__do …_

Maybe it was a maid. Someone who felt sorry for the neglected demi-orphan.

Maybe it was Gertrude. Little though she had to do with Ophelia, the _beauteous majesty of Denmark_ … Maybe a shred of pity had flowed in her veins … Unlikely, but not impossible. Who wouldn't feel sorry for her? So polite, so sweet; a flower child, a paragon of virtue. She can suddenly see the pain in the woman's eyes, closest to a mother she had and still worlds away.

Was it Old Hamlet? Who was he? Was it Claudius for the two were one and the same? Was it either of them? She thought not.

She perches the doll on the window pane and stares at it; all crimson lips and eyes, blue like his, with golden hair curling from porcelain temples. A white dress, little kid boots. In perfect condition; a baby doll, her first. She crumbles before it and whirls around as Laertes opens the door; his face haggard and pale with sorrow.

'Laertes?' she whispers, her voice tremulous, her eyes too big in her thin face. 'Who bought me my first doll?'

'It was I, sister,' he whispers, crossing to her quietly as if she were a wild animal; easily scared away. His dark eyes are hers, his wild hair his father's. They are true orphans now.

'I, from the city of fogs and mists; an English rose for my petal.'

And when his hesitant hand brushed her hair, she spun around with fear burning in her eyes.

'Laertes … am I going mad?' she whispered hoarsely, and her answer was in his sudden protective embrace.

'I'll look after you, Ophelia,' he mumbled into her hair and she sighed.

'You always have,' she answered simply.

And the doll and the prince watched from the window and the door, each as dumb as the other.

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**A/N: My favourite so far. :) Thanks to my lovely reviewer AGENT Kuma-chan for the support. ;) Yeah, I like this one, though, it's my first mad Ophelia and it didn't go too badly ... tried to keep the flower theme going. :) I love Laertes so freaking much.  
**

**- Wraithlike  
**


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